Rock Salt Water Deodorant Diy

semiseria Chronicle of an evening of celebration

last night. Holidays for the patron saint. During the overcrowded city.
Illuminations, noises, sound Taranta!
The course is tight and people from swarms Banquet improvised by immigrants looking for a bit of survival.
I will not go into a tirade in defense of legality and certainly not in a forgiving and too easily prone moral poverty: I merely observe.
Two police officers (one man and one woman), solitary in the unequal battle against the illegal trade of counterfeit products were roaming the streets of the course to be decommissioned, a street the other, all improvised "windows" of improvised as sellers. Via
phony handbags, sunglasses cheesy way, via jewelry, pendants and necklaces ... all away!
As they turned the corner, with the dexterity of the best times of Silvan, that's all just reappear as before.
But most of all what made me shiver was to observe the aggressive look which is formally called "collect them all!" ... "Everything away" ...
I wonder why these raids, but never occur in the barracks (at least four in the entire city) operated by locals with doing business and that this administration has allowed the use of public land by giving even pre-fabricated gradually became more and more recognized the illegality of the stores. Yes: the native question in disposing of all (unbearably tolerated), to be counterfeit DVDs and CDs to games consoles and hi-tech change, needless to say, scontatamente illegal.
So what? What's the catch? It will not be the case that under the table, in addition to counterfeit marks, pass Palmieri of bribes that allow the exercise of professions abusive?
Oh I forgot! Many customers are law enforcement officials in those shacks!
enter it anything?

Actual Spels That Turn You Into A Warewolf

This age


At this age it is in perpetual flight
staring under him,
to watch the world moves broken steps. At this


awareness declines in happiness.
At this age it is true.
At this age, you recognize.
At this age we live.

At this age, only at this age, it is poetry.

Squinge Pregnancy Wear Clothes Hack

The greatest discovery

About two months ago.
a stroke.
Then another.
My father is seventy-four, blue eyes and a great soul.
My father is fine now, thankfully!
I "suffered" these events with unexpected ease: worried but calm.
I thought that nature was doing its work and that nothing would have been for childish attempts to reject the event, relentlessly by opposing the inevitable: I dived into the river and I got carried away, "adhering" to the situation and striving to live intensely.
And then I discovered something never before seen in his forty now.
I saw my father mention a cry of despair (never happened before, not even the death of his parents) and close to the heart led me to a greater closeness to him.
With the right side completely blocked for the first few days completely dependent on me, the only son.
A cord made of heavy trade, encouragement of mutual smiles, tradottesi in all situations be a force to each other, convinced that we would have won the battle. And so it was.
But what moved me (almost to upset) was a close contact.
Unable to shave the beard I have repeatedly made.
A sunny morning at his home, just finished a hot bath ... I approached her face to his intention to raze it and being careful not to hurt him.
Those eyes, deep blue gray veiled by a look of age I gave back everything to me.
My God! I had never seen so closely. My eyes had never crossed her that way. It was my father. I was his son.
I communicated with modesty and a little embarrassment of his gratitude.
But I was grateful to him for that look. And
to chance, because I had allowed him to enjoy it before it was too late.
I love you dad.

Trichloroacetic Acid (tca) Burned My Skin

Perfumes

hit and sunk in an instant!

Over the past two days, thanks to the spring looming, I was shaken by two episodes pleasant.

Thursday: the waterfront of Salerno. Ore 18.50.

pleasant walk between budding athletes, families walking, distracted people conversing a little oblivious to what is happening around. Suddenly, a strong scent of flowers pittosporum strikes my senses and opens the soul to the memories of the night armed guards in an intense spring of twenty years ago. Immense joy to the next emotion.

morning: walking the town. 11.30.

The city on Sunday morning, sparse flows and diluted in the air of joyous celebration, takes me to a coffee and keeps me company in the stroll aimlessly produced by personal escape from asphyxia. It 'nice to walk and are basically a little distracted, too. Suddenly, a strong smell of broom sweeps me and lifts me up to the extreme serenity.

I feel I have a little orphan this morning, but happy, happy because the air around me greets me and makes me cuddles.

I really needed it.

And maybe I'll put on my two small terraces planting in memory of this season: a broom and a hedge of pittosporum.

But the smell will go well this time shared with anyone. Or not?